


Stop Signs, Traffic Lights, and Other Things That Match Our Eyes

by Corvid_Knight



Series: Demonstuck [18]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Demonstuck, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, poor Dave, sex aversion i guess?, withdrawal of consent and the right reaction to it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 09:41:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14767158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvid_Knight/pseuds/Corvid_Knight
Summary: There's some boyfriend things that Dave can't do, and tries anyway. Thankfully Karkat's in his head enough to realize when he's about to break.





	Stop Signs, Traffic Lights, and Other Things That Match Our Eyes

You get down to you in your boxers and Karkat shirtless, the first time. 

Then you fucking fall apart. 

"Dave?" 

_Confused, not pissed at me_ , the rational part of your mind thinks. (That rational part is shrinking really fucking fast.) _Karkat, not Bro, come on, he's not gonna hurt me, he's not gonna—_

"Dave, green or red?" 

_Fuck fuck fuck FUCK_ —

You've been shutting him out of your mind for the past however fucking long it's been, half because if you didn't you woulda gotten caught in a feedback loop that'd have both you and the demon more-or-less mindless with desire and lust and too fucking much input at once, and half because you're spooked over going any further than open-mouthed kisses and hands wandering places that hands aren't allowed to be in polite company. You don't want him to know you're spooked. That you're on the edge of panic. You love him, you'd do anything for him, but you're—

You're— 

"Okay, fuck this," Karkat growls, sliding off the bed to retrieve your shirt from wherever the fuck you'd dropped it. Or he'd dropped it. Did he take it off, or you? You've got old memories trying to override what's happening _now_ ; which one is right? You slowly stripping for him, or him sliding his hands up between cloth and skin as he kissed a line from your jaw up to your lips? 

_Second one. Second one. He's sweet, he's careful, he wants me but he wants me to want him back, he'll stop—_ I

Stop. Yeah. Stop. 

He asked you a question and you didn't answer it. 

"Red," you say, finally, as Karkat gently pulls your arms up to get your shirt back on—you're fucking limp, limbs only moving 'cause he's moving you; what if he'd decided to move you some other way? Clothes off instead of on? "Red, f-fuck, 'kat, I can't, I _can't,_ I'm sorry, please—" 

"I fucking figured that out, Dave," he says quietly, somehow managing to thread arms and head through the right holes even when you're not fucking helping, hands moving to your shoulders as soon as they're not occupied with your shirt. Pure-red eyes meet yours, blink, change patterns within them, blink again, change again—is your time sense messed up? Is he blinking too often? 

You don't know. You don't _know._

Are you breathing? 

"Dave. Hey. Dave." Karkat tilts his head—his horns are back, halo a not-quite-there blacker-than-black shadow above them—and frowns at you, his presence nudging for entry into your mind like—

_No. Stop. Fucking. Stop thinking that. Karkat. It's Karkat._

But. 

" _Wait,_ " you tell him, and the word comes out choked and painful. You close your eyes for a second, realize it's worse when you can't see it's him here with you. "Just—I'm sorry, I fu—I fucked up, I thought—" _I could, I thought I could but I—I can't do it, I'm so sorry, babe, I'm sorry, I can't, I'm_ sorry—

"Dave, shhh. Come here. C'mere, I've got you..." 

You can't really stop your panicked mental litany, but then again he didn't ask you to. No, Karkat seems to just accept that you're going to keep spilling thoughts at him; he makes soft, calming sounds as he shifts you again, gets you up close to him so he can wrap his arms around you, hold you tight and keep you where you need to be. 

His care for you should help, but your mind fucks it up.

_Let him. Right. Let him do what he wants, you can't move anyway,_ he _trained you to cooperate, not move, be a fucking puppet. Be still, be good,_ he _knows what you need—_

_I don't want to,_ you think, and _Bro would be proud as hell,_ you think at the same time. 

"Jesus Christ," Karkat mutters into your ear. 

"I'm _sorry,_ " you force out, because it's the only thing you _can_ say right now. 

"Shh." And he takes a deep breath and does...something. 

Karkat doesn't do this often. You're not sure he _can_ do it often; the only time he pulls this stunt is when you're stuck in your own special fight-flight-or-submit hell, when you're so panicked you can't move or think or breathe. He's only done it a few times, and it's always when he's holding you or you're clinging to him, wound so tight and close you can feel his pulse in the contact. 

He takes a deep breath, and draws your consciousness out into himself with it. 

Slowly, you slide out of yourself and into him. Yeah, you're still freaked out, but an _amazing_ amount of the fear and anxiety just melts away once the demon's pulled you out of the oxygen-starved, adrenaline-filled body you belong in. Karkat surrounds you with himself, shields you with love and concern and the fucking _promise_ that he'll never hurt you like that, never force you into that shit, never, he'd never, he's so goddamn sorry he didn't realize where your head was getting to before, call a halt when you were still at yellow instead of letting you rocket past redline and crash like a plane nosediving with an empty tank of fuel and a full load of passengers... 

Okay. Okay. 

_Babe, 'kat, love of my life, you're using my metaphors again. I gotta get out of your head._

_One more fucking minute,_ he thinks back at you, winding around your mind. (Not so tightly that you can't get away. He won't trap you like that.) _That effect's not harmful, love. Just weird as fuck. And you need to settle more._

_You gave me what I need already,_ you tell him silently, and he laughs and kisses you as he lets your consciousness fall back into your head where it probably kinda belongs. 

You want to kiss back and you can't and you're scared he'll stop because you can't—

"Won't stop, calm down," the demon mumbles against your mouth. And true to his word, he doesn't stop.

Not until you finally exhale shakily, until your hands move up like they belong to a malfunctioning robot and latch onto his arms, holding him still as you finally _finish_ crashing, curling up against him and starting to shake and sob. _Then_ he stops kissing you. Then he just holds you, finger-combs your hair and murmurs to you in a language that doesn't have words, speaks your name again and again, tells you he loves you so many times that you can't count. 

"I love you," you tell him eventually, shifting to let go of his arms and loop your own arms around his neck instead. Your fingers hurt. You've been holding him for a while, and too tightly. "I. I'm sorry. I thought—I wanted to—" 

"Shhh." Karkat kisses the top of your head, probably because he can't reach your face where you have it pressed against his bare chest. "It's okay. It's okay, Dave. You can change your fucking mind, dumbass. I'll always stop for you. I swear." 

You nod, but, _I fucked this up,_ your mind whispers at you. 

Karkat hears that, because he growls deep in his chest, the rumble probably inaudible to anyone who's not clinging to him like you are. "You didn't fuck anything up." 

"That's the fucking problem," you snark back at him. God, that kind of attitude is automatic now, huh? _You should be pissed at me._

"Why, because something happened that we both knew might happen?" 

"Yeah." 

"Oh fuck that." _I'm going to play Rose, Dave._ "You have issues. We know you have issues. We work around the goddamn issues, because like it or not that's part of you for now. If that means we don't fuck, then that's _fine._ " And Karkat pulls back, waits for you to meet his eyes so you're seeing the microshifts in them. _I love you any way you are. Do you fucking understand me? If this is as close to fucking as we ever get, I'm going to love you. As long as you're okay here—_

He kisses your forehead. His lips are warm. 

— _I'm happy._

"Holy fucking shit, I don't deserve you," you mumble, and pull the demon down into another kiss before he can point out all the reasons why what you just said was wrong. 

He's still pointing them out, in your head. 

You love this guy so fucking much it _hurts._


End file.
